


Wings

by doctormccoy



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Minor Angst, Mostly Fluff, Wings, canon AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 13:39:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormccoy/pseuds/doctormccoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by an artwork and comments by Euclase, where the peoples of Middle Earth are born with wings. But where are Thorin's?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic is inspired by Euclase’s art and then subsequent comments here: (http://durincested.tumblr.com/post/41842262071/euclase-theblueboxonbakerstreet)
> 
> The idea was just so wonderful I couldn’t help but write something. There’s some angst, but ultimately a happy ending because I need happy endings while I can still get them. Unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own, all characters belong to Tolkien, original idea for wings and the visual concept behind Bilbo's and Thorin's belongs to Euclase.

Bilbo had never asked Thorin why he bound his wings.

To be frank, the hobbit hadn’t even thought the dwarf had wings at first. He had never removed his heavy clothing during their travels and when the group had a chance to stop to bathe he always did so alone. In hindsight, he really should have guessed. The other dwarves had wings, after all, of varying shapes, sizes and colours. If he was being honest, Balin’s were the most beautiful to the halfling. While Kili’s green and violet hummingbird wings were startling bright and alive, the energetic excitement of them matched only by the Durin prince himself, and Ori’s, the delightful silver-grey and tan of a tufted titmouse, were beautiful without a doubt, Balin’s were a blinding white, speckled with brown and reminded Bilbo of a snowy owl, regal and wise.

But that sharp whiteness seemed uninteresting and dull in comparison to the inky blackness of Thorin’s single wing, spreading out like a freshly healed limb only just freed from a casting, and Bilbo found his own modest brown and tan sparrow wings folding up close against his back in embarrassment. He remembered Fili, with his mesmerizing, and massive, golden brown barn owl wings, asking him if all hobbits had such plain wings. Dwarves, after all, took even more pride in their wings than they did in their braids and beards, and it was unusual to see a creature with such ordinary, unimpressive ones. Bilbo had huffed, of course, for his wings were perfectly fine for an ordinary, unimpressive hobbit thank you very much, and they served the purpose of getting him places his feet couldn’t. Hobbits were not travelers, after all, and what was the point of large, ornate wings when you lived in small, cozy homes and went no further than the market?

No, Bilbo Baggins had never once been struck with wing-envy, but as he drank in the sight of Thorin’s, feathers flared wide and beaded with water droplets from the soft rain that had begun to fall, he decided that if he were to ever covet another’s wings it would be these ones.

It was the soft, strangled sob that brought his attention back to the present, Bilbo’s eyes torn away from the shiny beetle-black wing to take in the rest of the scene before him. Thorin was half standing in a pool of water the dwarves had been using to wash off the grime and muck of Goblin Town and the orc battle, having climbed down from the Carrock once their King was able to move well on his own. The party was now making a meal from the rabbits Fili and Kili had caught, and the instruction to find Thorin and tell him that the food would soon be ready was what had brought him here in the first place.

Pale blue eyes gazed at the dwarf king, now, surveying the dark tanned skin of his back. His shoulders were impossibly broad, even without his many layers on, and crisscrossed with scars, old and new, half healed wounds from his battle with Azog standing out sharply in contrast. Worst of all was the snarled mass of scar tissue where Thorin’s second wing would extend across his right shoulder. The wound looked healed, and yet at the same time as fresh as if it were only hours old, red and angry against the light brown skin.

Fili’s words about how a dwarf’s wings were their pride came unbidden to his mind again and Bilbo ached for Thorin and the emptiness he could not fill. He had assumed the dwarf was born without wings, as the race of Men was, and the rare hobbit and elf. Sometimes they just did not develop well, and while for Men it was perfectly proper to be wingless, for a winged creature to be born wingless was the worst of disfigurements. A loss felt but not wholly understood. But to have had and then lost.. Bilbo could not imagine such a heart wrenching pain.

Bilbo was cautious, now, as he took a slow step towards the dwarf, another pained sob echoing against the rocks around them. Rain was falling steadily, now, but the hobbit ignored the cold dampness starting to settle into his bones.

“Thorin?”

His voice was soft, but steady, and he stood his ground when the other whipped around to find the source of the voice, wing curling in reflexively. Bilbo couldn’t help but stare at the way the fading light of the sun, now almost completely hidden behind grey storm clouds, caught and shimmered off each ink black feather, creating a myriad of colours. It was the wrong thing to do, however, and Thorin’s tear streaked face twisted into an angry grimace, the dwarf advancing on him with thunder in his eyes.

“Come to have a look, then, halfing?”

He spat the last word like it were the most disgusting thing to pass his lips, which was a feat for the dwarf who swore to loath elves above all else in Middle Earth.

“I- Thorin, no, I just.. Balin sent me to tell you that there is food if you were hungry,” Bilbo stammered weakly, trying not to cower when Thorin shoved him into the side of a large stone, his own wings fluttering in protest against his back. The position was uncomfortable, but, the hobbit figured he deserved it a little bit for imposing on the dwarf in what was obviously meant to be a private moment.

Bilbo and Thorin remained like that for several long moments, over bright sapphire staring into pale aquamarine, as if trying to decide if he was telling the truth. Finally, Thorin let him go, turning away so his back was to the hobbit, pulling on his trousers. Already he had several leather belts in his hands and Bilbo realized that those must be what the King used to bind his remaining wing down and hide it from view. He stood there awkwardly before Thorin spoke again, arm outstretched and belts in hand.

“If you’re going to stay, hobbit, then make yourself useful.”

He was startled into action at those words and took the leather straps from him with hands that only shook a little bit, watching while the dwarf found a flat, smooth stone on which to settle.

Bilbo didn’t know what to do. He felt like the accomplice to an appalling crime as he reached out to touch the neglected feathers, fingers ghosting through them and freeing dander from between them. Rain was beading on the inky blackness, now, and wind was ruffling through them as if even nature itself were angry about the task Bilbo was to undertake.

“Thorin.. If you don’t mind my asking.. How did it happen?” he said in a small voice, still not yet willing to follow the order he had been given. Thorin grunted, pausing in his gruff attempts to wipe his face clean at the question, but ultimately unsurprised by it. Even Bilbo’s hesitance to touch it was understandable. The hobbit would be fearful and disgusted by the lone appendage, as all who had even glanced at it were.

“Azog,” he replied simply, and Bilbo felt his chest clench fiercely. He would have taken the Pale Orc’s remaining arm off that night on the cliff if he had known the repulsive crime he had committed. Bilbo knew enough about dwarven culture to understand that a dwarf’s wings were seen as an extension of their being. While braids symbolized great deeds and accomplishments, and a large beard a sign of maturity, their wings were something else entirely. With them from the moment of their birth until their death, and reflected their very soul. Every dwarf in their company had wings that showed their true selves, beyond their great deeds and their earthly achievements, from Kili’s nervously excited hummingbird to Ori’s shy, modest titmouse.

Impulsively, Bilbo leaned in to press his lips to the knot of scar tissue on Thorin’s back, feeling the dwarf stiffen. Taking the fact he hadn’t been thrown into the pool as a sign to continue, Bilbo continued to worship the scars with soft kisses, fingers buried into feathers darker than a starless sky.

“Are you not appalled by such ugliness, halfling?” Thorin’s voice came, soft and frighteningly vulnerable for someone who always seemed so indomitable and strong.

Bilbo made a soft noise of dissent and pressed his forehead between the dwarf’s shoulder blades, small hand folding over the knot of tissue in the absence of his mouth.

“I could never be appalled by something so beautiful, Thorin,” he murmured, earning another shocked twitch from the dwarf. He very tentatively unfolded his own wings, letting the mottled brown feathers brush against the black and the sharp intake of breath from the King at such an intimate act was more than worth the embarrassed heat creeping up Bilbo’s neck. To touch another’s wings with your hands was accepted and invited, as preening your own wings was extremely difficult. Nevertheless, even that was something generally shared between friends and those trusted. To touch another creature’s wings with your own was something reserved for only those you were closest to. By brushing his wings to Thorin’s, Bilbo was telling the dwarf King he admired him above all others, that he considered him worthy of being his mate and that he desired him in the most intimate of ways. It was something that Thorin, with his single ugly wing, never thought he would have. After all, who wanted half a mate who couldn’t even fly?

“Beautiful is not the word I would use,” Thorin rumbled, holding incredibly still as if he feared the slightest movement would end the delicate touch of feathers, Bilbo’s right wing curling around his shoulder in the absence of a second wing.

He cringed when the contact ceased, convinced the hobbit had seen reason and escaped. Instead, he found himself with a lapful of frowning Bilbo Baggins and the dwarf wondered briefly when the smaller had found such stubbornness.

Small hands planted on either side of his face and forced him to keep his gaze on the halfling, who clearly wasn’t about to let Thorin wallow in his self pity.

“You lost your wing fighting to save your people and give them a home, Thorin Oakenshield. To reclaim the mines of Moria and avenge your grandfather’s death. You fended off the White Orc with nothing more than an oaken branch and a sword already dulled on the bones of dozens and cut his arm from his body. You gave your people hope and sacrificed more than they will ever know so that they could live, so that they could finally have a place to call home.”

Bilbo’s voice was fierce and heavy with emotion, soaked curls hanging around his face. He was shivering with the cold but his eyes blazed with an intensity and conviction that left the dwarf feeling warm despite the chill.

“You gave them everything, even sacrificed part of your very soul so that they could know peace. And if you don’t think that is the most beautiful thing in all of Middle Earth, Thorin, then you are even more blind than I originally thought.”

Stunned silence settled over them, save the soft patter of rain and for the first time in many, many years, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, found himself without words. He stared at this tiny halfling in his lap, the plain brown wings quivering at his shoulders the only sign of his fear of the dwarf’s response, the hobbit himself glaring with a determined gleam in his eyes.

Finally, a soft rumble escaped Thorin, and after a few seconds Bilbo recognized it to be laughter. He opened his mouth again to protest indignantly that he was being completely serious when the brush of feathers against his neck silenced him. A soft smile was on the dwarf King’s lips and his eyes were filled with a warmth that Bilbo remembered seeing before he’d been embraced on the Carrock all those days ago.

“I think perhaps Gandalf is right in his assessment of you, my dear burglar. You have more to offer than I ever guessed, and much more than you ever believed. Will you never cease to amaze me?” he breathed more than spoke, allowing the edge of his wing to glide along the halfling’s. He relished the soft gasp Bilbo made at the touch, a shiver running down his spine. Thorin had never heard anyone speak so honestly, or passionately, about his wings before. Children would shy away in fear and disgust. Parents would shush them in shame. Even his friends and his sister-sons avoided talking about the King’s missing appendage, as if they feared his reaction to such attentions. He had taken to binding down the remaining limb almost as soon as it was healed enough to be hidden away, claiming that it helped him balance better to have it tucked away from sight.

But as Bilbo returned his caresses, shy at first but emboldened by Thorin’s mouth against his own, he found himself wondering why he had ever been so disgusted with his scars if such a soft, innocent creature could find them beautiful.

They remained like that for a long while, until the voices of the company came calling their names, exploring with mouths and hands and wings. If Bilbo was unafraid and unashamed of Thorin’s wing, then, perhaps the dwarf King could learn to be as well.

That night, Thorin allowed Bilbo to groom his bedraggled black wing by the light of the fire, which had not seen such attentions in many years, and if Balin shared a secretive smile with Gandalf at the sight of them then it went unnoticed by dwarf and hobbit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Bilbo would later lose his left wing in the Battle of Five Armies in his haste to get to Thorin’s side when he sees the King fall to the mud. That night, the King would hold the hobbit close and kiss apologies to the bandaged remains of his wing, murmuring his love. The hobbit was worth more than a stone, and Thorin would spend the rest of their time together proving it to him.)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	2. Interludes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone goes to find Thorin and Bilbo after Bilbo doesn't return from fetching the King for supper. They're surprised by what they see. After Erebor is taken back, it's not so surprising anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a conversation with Moonrose91, who's had such lovely ideas and suggestions on where to take this story.
> 
> Honestly I didn't intend to write more with this than the first bit. But then everyone has been so excited and asking for more here and on Tumblr. So here you go. Chapters won't necessarily be in any coherent order. Just a collection of drabbles within the same storyline.
> 
> Rating will obviously change between chapters, as you can see here.

Dwalin was pretty sure that his jaw was on the ground. Possibly even a few inches into the mud. When he had gone to locate Thorin and the halfling he'd expected, maybe, to see Bilbo had gotten lost, or stuck up a tree or whatever other trouble he could find to get himself into.

What he didn't expect was to round the corner, growing annoyed with the silence that answered his calls of 'Thorin!', and see his King with the hobbit in his lap, deep in the throes of a very involved kiss. He stood there and stared, whether in shock or awe he wasn't quite sure, before he backpedaled around the rock and leaned against it. 

His massive eagle owl wings, brown and golden on the outside, but a soft, clean white on the inside, folded around him, reacting to his internal distress. He doubted that Thorin could be taken advantage of by a creature half his size. And his King was too proper to take advantage of the halfling. Logically, then, this was a consensual liaison between the two of them.

He chanced another look around the rock and almost reeled back in embarrassment, the back of his neck growing hot. Thorin's single wing was pressed forward until the underside was against Bilbo's, the intimacy of the moment not lost on the large dwarf. Bilbo's face was flush pink and his eyes closed, body tucked close against Thorin's bare chest. His King had an arm wrapped tight around the hobbit's waist to keep him there, and his free hand buried between them, unlacing Bilbo's trousers with quick movements.

Perhaps what was most shocking to Dwalin was how at ease the halfling was with Thorin's single wing, and the tender way his fingers brushed over the snarl of scar tissue at his back even as the dwarf King pleasured them both rapidly. He remembered well the day that his friend had lost his wing, remembered the blank sorrow on Thorin's face. He'd had no words of comfort then, nor any day since, and was almost relieved when the other dwarf had begun to bind down the remaining limb. To see a hobbit, a gentle creature of warm hearths and many meals, so comfortable with the glaring emptiness of Thorin's right side, something that the most hardened dwarves turned away from, made Dwalin feel ashamed of the way he had treated his friend all these years. He swore from that day forth, if a mere halfling could accept Thorin's single wing without reservation, then Dwalin could, as well, for the sake of his King, and his friend.

The taller dwarf left the pair to their intimacy, plodding back through the mud and rain to where the group had taken shelter under an outcropping of rock, the smell of cooking meat wafting across the clearing. Nori, with his shiny blue-black and white magpie wings folded neatly against his back against the wind, held out a bowl for him, shooting the other dwarf a quizzical look at the odd flush on his face. 

His unspoken question was answered when Thorin and their burglar returned from wherever they had gotten to, Bilbo's clothing a bit rumpled and his mouth a nice, kiss bitten red, beard rash pinking the skin around it. Nori said nothing and traded an amused look with Dori, the elder dwarf's bright white dove wings dipping slightly when he shrugged. Whom their King loved was no business of theirs, after all.

Silence settled over the camp when a ripple of movement behind Thorin caught their attention, thirteen pairs of eyes fixed on the single ink black wing. Gandalf was the first to look away and break the spell, chuckling softly as he lit his pipe. It was good to see that some had found happiness, in the midst of all this pain. Perhaps, with the influence of Bilbo Baggins to guide him, Thorin could be a great King some day.

Right now, though, Thorin looked more like a deer that realized it had been seen, caught between a grimace and a glare at the looks of pity he was faced with. He was about to open his mouth and snap at the group when a warm, broad hand settled on his shoulder. The King looked sideways to meet the steady gaze of Dwalin and he set his jaw, daring the other dwarf to pity him, too. Instead he merely clapped him on the back and handed him a bowl of meat and broth, gesturing to a bare space by the fire.

"Welcome back, my King."

It was a simple enough greeting, and yet Thorin couldn't help the warmth and gratitude settling in his bones at the deeper meaning behind it. Too long had he hidden in the shadows, letting shame and self pity rule him. But no one ruled a King. 

That night he would join his company by the fire and let the hobbit clean his feathers, steady hands preening out a horrendous amount of feather dander and dust with practiced ease. He went to bed that night with his wing freed for the first time in many long years, and would do so every day since. 

It would be many long months before Dwalin would see his King be so intimate with the hobbit again. Either they got better at enjoying their private moments privately, or it had been a onetime thing. It wouldn't be until after Erebor was taken and the rebuilding began that he'd stumble upon them once more. This time was different.

They had all suffered grievously from the Battle of Five Armies and none had escaped without wounds. In the end, however, it was the halfling that sacrificed the most to see the battle won. Despite having been banished from Thorin's sight with words so cruel they made even Dwalin's chest ache for his part in stealing the Arkenstone, their little burglar had stayed to fight for them. He'd thrown himself bodily in front of the fallen forms of Thorin, Fili and Kili to fend off the finishing blow Azog intended for Durin's Heirs, and the blade had sliced cleanly through the muscle and bone of his left wing. In horrible pain and covered in mud and blood, Bilbo had managed to heft his letter opener and drive it through Azog's heart, finally killing the menace of the line of Durin. 

It had been a long period of recovery, for all of them, but Bilbo's healing had been especially difficult, the wound from Azog's blade succumbing to infection twice before it finally began to scab over. Fili and Kili had survived mostly intact, and with an impressive number of scars between them that they insisted made them seem even more fierce and formidable. Thorin had been the least grievously wounded, but had a cracked skull that took a long time to heal, leaving Dain as temporary steward for the first several weeks.

But, that had been many months ago. Thorin had been crowned King Under the Mountain and nearly died the same day when Dis arrived and saw the scars on her children. Bofur was still laughing about it and never turned down a chance to tell anyone who asked the story of Dis' wrath and a cowering Thorin. 

Bilbo's physical wounds had healed, but some things could never be fully recovered. Thorin had done his best to comfort his halfling the way he'd been comforted all those months ago, and Bilbo would always smile and tell him that he was fine, and that he had never needed his wings much before anyways, and he needed them even less in the underground tunnels of Erebor. But there was always a quiet sadness to his words, and no one ever really quite believed him.

At first, he had refused Thorin's offers to help him bind down his wing, feeling that to do so would make him the worst kind of hypocrite. He realized quickly, though, that after a lifetime of having two wings to balance him, only having one made moving around difficult. It only took a few bruises from falling down stairs and out of chairs before he let him belt down the lonely limb, feeling as if his soul were being torn from him once more. 

Dwalin had never seen the King be so patient with another before, even when Fili and Kili were learning their firsts. 

Initially he thought he'd simply interrupted a conversation when he rounded the end of the hallway, catching sight of Thorin and Bilbo. The halfing's wing was unbound today and stretching stiffly, his side pressed tight against Thorin's to keep his balance. He let the greeting on his tongue die off, a strange emotion welling up inside him at the pair of them. 

They way they were tucked together, with their bare shoulders touching and single wings flared out opposite, they looked for a brief moment like one being instead of two. Apart, incomplete, but when put together, creating a whole. As if they were two halves of a complete soul that had always been this way.

Embarrassed by this line of thought, Dwalin dismissed it and trotted down the hall to his King and his King's Consort, announcing himself with a gruff cough. Thorin's blue eyes turned on him and he explained that the council was waiting for him to make his final decision on establishing trade routes with the city of Dale, midway through being reconstructed and with Bard as their leader.

"You go on ahead, Thorin, I can find my way back to our rooms on my own," the hobbit said with a soft smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Instead of dignifying Bilbo's words with a response, Thorin crouched down and hauled him up onto his back as if he weighed no more than a sack of feathers, earning a displeased grunt from the former burglar.

The dwarf King wavered for a moment, black wing spreading out to try to reestablish his center of gravity. From having his single wing unbound, Thorin had learned to balance quite well with it, but Bilbo's added weight was throwing him off. And then Bilbo's wing flared to match Thorin's, the hobbit's arms tight around the other's neck, and the pair was steady and balanced, Dwalin's eyes wide. Thorin and Bilbo didn't even react at the strangeness of what just happened, the King setting off down the hall towards his council room with Dwalin trailing behind. He watched the way they moved as if they were a single being, Bilbo's wing automatically adjusting and readjusting to every single thing Thorin did, maintaining their balance with an unconscious ease. 

He decidedly ignored Balin's look of amusement at his expression of contentedness when he finally settled into his seat at the table, knowing that his brother had seen just as well as him the way Bilbo's wing curved elegantly to keep Thorin from falling over when the dwarf spun around to fend off an excited Kili. 

"Do you think they've even noticed, yet, how easily they move as one?" Dwalin mused aloud, muscular arms folded over his chest. Balin chuckled and shook his head, snowy wings rustling slightly against his back as he sat up straight.

"I think they'll figure it out some day. Now let's just hope that day comes before I'm dead and in the grave," he snorted, earning a smirk from the younger dwarf. 

"Are we taking bets again? We should take bets again. I bet Bilbo will notice it first, but be too nervous to mention it to Uncle," Fili's voice cut in, the mischievous Prince ducking his head between Dwalin and Balin. He'd come out quite nice when he'd bet that the halfling would join them on their journey after all, and he figured himself a rather good judge of the hobbit's character.

A moment of silence passed between them before Dwalin nodded, holding up a bag of gold coins.

"You're on, princeling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
